


The Enthralling Chronicles of Two Pining Dumbasses on a Big, Big Spaceship

by Ancalime1, corvuss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pillow Talk, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), These two are big stupid. We do stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 04:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21048401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime1/pseuds/Ancalime1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvuss/pseuds/corvuss
Summary: What do you do when you’re stranded out in space with your best friend? Talk about your feelings, of course!Or, the published version of Corvuss’ and my rp, which will be updated in chapter-format.





	The Enthralling Chronicles of Two Pining Dumbasses on a Big, Big Spaceship

**Author's Note:**

> A roleplay with corvuss, now published for your consumption! Each character POV is separated by a page break and a ~. Enjoy!

Bruce walks through the narrow hallways of the ship, a hand on one of the rough walls for balance. He feels like he's slogging through tar—and like his limbs could give out on him at any moment. He's physically exhausted, but mentally _ wired_. It's like the usual overstimulation from a rough day of tending to patients and crying children has looped back around. It's good work, in theory—vaguely reminiscent of his days in Kolkata, constantly on his feet, no time to think... But everything is so _ confined _. Claustrophobic. There's no secluded house in the forest to escape to. 

(It doesn't feel _ safe_—not for him, but for the other people here. Thor's people, already fragile and terrified and _ vulnerable_. He'd be lying if he didn't know the exact locations of every escape pod on the ship. He'd be lying if the nightmares didn't haunt him, if he didn't feel like he could reach his breaking point at any moment.

He's a time bomb, waiting to explode.)

He tries to shake the thought away. It's just the cabin fever. He can't ruminate on that right now. Can't even _ consider _ it. It's almost like he can finally breathe again when he comes back to the room. He collapses on his and Thor's shared bed, sinking into it and staring out into the inky void of space from the porthole in the wall. 

There's a growing sense of anxiety, dread, _ something _ sitting in his stomach. He sits up, slowly, every muscle in his body aching. Where is Thor? He's usually here by now.

~

Thor is _ piss_-tired, or at least, that's how he remembers Stark putting it that one time. Piss-tired. Tired as piss. Made about as much sense as a mismatched puzzle set, but Thor wasn't one to dwell on semantics.

He plods on through the yawning corridors of the massive ship, built for Odin-knows what kinds of unsavory activities. He shudders to think of the Grandmaster waltzing through these halls, adorned in his flip flops and obscenely glittery robe. It was a jarring thought, especially when only just outside of his imagination there gathered clusters of his people, huddled into small groups like rabbits in a warren. He's been running to and fro between them, ensuring that they had found their families, made sure they had enough provisions, enough space... ironically in a ship drifting through the damn stuff, there was almost never enough of it. At least, not for Thor. Not when he was busy making himself accessible all day long. _ Selfish, _ he finds himself thinking, though the thought is immediately dismissed when he happens upon his quarters. His shoulders sink in relief, the anticipation of plopping down onto a soft fluffy bed taking over his consciousness and flushing out every other thought.

He raises a hand and gives a gentle knock on the door. “Banner,” he whispers. “You in here?”

~

Bruce bolts upright, eyes wide as saucers before he meets eyes with Thor, and relaxes instantly. “Oh—hey, man,” he responds awkwardly, giving a little wave. “Get in here, I missed you. You survive the day?”

He's here, he's safe—thank God. His mind had been wandering in a dozen different directions. He doesn't know what he'd do here without Thor. _ It's a good thing he's with you—he's the only one who can stop you, after all. _

Bruce tries to shove that back into whatever dark corner of his mind it came from. He doesn't know why it keeps coming back to that. Maybe it's the stress, or the sleep deprivation—_it's definitely the sleep deprivation_—but it feels like his brain's been trying to sabotage him. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy and he knows it. If he gets too stressed out, Bad Things will happen. Thor's told him Hulk's a good guy, that he trusts him, but Thor doesn't know Hulk like Bruce knows Hulk. 

That restless feeling is back, but this time it's not focused on Thor's whereabouts anymore. “God, do you ever miss the fresh air?”

~

Thor gives a good-natured chuckle and makes his way to the bed, plopping himself down and laying parallel to Bruce so that their faces are next to each other. There’s still a substantial amount of space between them, but he’s close enough where he can feel the other man’s breathing tickle his skin. His cheeks burn with warmth and his chest seizes for a split second, and then he quiets the feeling (with about the same effectiveness of shushing a lion mid-roar). 

“Erm. Fresh air,” he rumbles, eyes rolling towards the ceiling, deep in mock-contemplation. “Huh. I guess it's all the same to us Asgardians. Especially with the uh, breathing in space, and whatnot.” He sighs. “I _ do _ miss being able to walk around without bumping my head against some archway every five minutes, though.” He tilts his head towards Bruce, then redirects the question. “And what about you? How are you adjusting to life on Hotel-Asgard?”

~

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s why Hulk’s not been out much, lately. Those damn archways. I don’t know how you tall people do it.” Bruce says with a grin, moving a little closer and wriggling under the covers. The room feels warmer now, and he doesn't know if it's just Thor's body heat or if it's just... his presence. In general. 

Bruce laughs at that second bit—a bit sardonically, but a little genuine, too. Hotel Asgard—that was a way to put it. He'd forgotten how much he'd _ missed _ these conversations—not that it'd really been that long to begin with. “God, it doesn't make much of a difference to you all, does it? This is like…” He trails off, gesticulating a bit. “It's like a step up from a prison, for me.” He only _ wishes _ he were exaggerating.

~

_ Prison? _

Thor’s brow furrows. When he gets to thinking about it, he realizes he really doesn’t know that much about Banner, about his history, his life before the Avengers. He supposes he could technically say the same about the rest of the team, too—yet Banner is something of an especial mystery to him, his personal life encased within layers of what seemed to be either an intense shyness or a fear of being known—or both, as Thor suspects. 

He rolls over onto his stomach, and rests his chin on his hands. His face twists into a playful grin, something he hopes will coax the man out of his shell. “Prison, eh?” He begins, waggling his eyebrows. “Now what sort of trouble have we been getting ourselves into, Dr. Banner?”

~

Bruce laughs at that, feeling like he _ should _ take offense at the wording of the question—though oddly enough, he doesn’t. 

“Oh, you know,” he says, making a little motion with his hand, “When you turn into a giant green rage monster any time you’re threatened, things on Midgard tend to get a little... _ dicey_.” 

He shrugs, as if waving it off. “It’s not really the same. Just the claustrophobia. At least I can make myself useful here in ways that don’t involve my blood getting stolen by the military.”

~

It only just strikes Thor then that _ oh yeah, Banner’s a wanted fugitive, _ and _ maybe _ his jibe at prisons might have been just a tad insensitive. Just a tad.

He flushes at the blunder, but valiantly tries to focus on what Banner’s telling him. Blood. Military. The military wants his blood. Right, yes, because of the whole _ fugitive _ thing. Of course. 

Wait. Why did they want it again?

“Hulk,” he blurts out, answering his own question. Oh, he could have smacked himself for saying that. Okay, reel it back in. “Er—I mean—sorry. What I mean to say is, why... why do they want Hulk’s blood, anyways? What are they _ possibly _ hoping to achieve with it?”

He has a hunch though, and he suspects Banner knows he does too. The Hulk, weaponized. The military couldn’t control him now, but that wasn’t going to stop them from trying. He’d seen it before, seen it with Odin, seen it even with himself: the hunger for power, and the unceasing efforts to sate it.

“Banner,” he begins again in a low voice, like the whisper of thunder before the storm. “What the hell happened to you?”

~

Bruce’s chest seizes up, and he looks down, focusing on a loose thread on the bedsheet. “It’s not—it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, suddenly feeling sick with himself that he brought it up at all. Thor doesn’t need to know this. 

_ But he does. He cares. Just tell him. _

“It was just...” He trails off, staring at his hands, trying to find the words for something his brain won’t let him process. “Dehumanizing. It was dehumanizing. I was a fugitive for a while before they captured me and treated me like a lab rat and told me it was for my own good. They wormed their way into my head and convinced me of it. And now they have the information they need to cause more destruction than the Hulk ever c—” He stops himself, shaking his head, cursing himself for letting the words spill out. “But that doesn’t matter, Thor; it’s all in the past. I’m here now and I’m not going back there.” 

He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than anything. _ Back where? To the lab? To Earth? _ He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t want to go back to Earth. The ship isn’t ideal, but it’s better than being back there. He never trusted the other Avengers because of it; he could tell they only wanted to use him. Thor was different. Thor was alien to it all, literally and figuratively. Sometimes Bruce wondered if he trusted him so much because he wasn’t human.

~

“Hey...” Thor begins, but he falters, and his voice falls flat. Oh, Hel. He shouldn’t have asked that. He opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish, and he flails for words that won’t come. And all the while his hand hovers just inches away from Bruce’s face, fingers trembling, reaching for something he’s not sure he’s permitted to touch. 

He draws in a shuddering breath and steels himself. And when his fingers brush against the tender skin of the other man’s cheek, a shudder of awe overcomes him. 

“Listen. You... you don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to,” Thor begins, voice strung with uncertainty, with fear that he’s going about this all wrong. He traces Bruce’s jawline like it’s a lifeline, a tether. “You’re here. You’re safe. I know it’s not the most _ ideal _ of living situations—” he pauses, gesturing to the bedroom and the glittering window to space. “But it’s far away from Midgard, and all those miserable bastards. You’re safe here, and you’re under my protection now.” Another pause. “Both of you are.”

~

Bruce leans in to the touch, closing his eyes and exhaling. He clings to Thor's words like they're a lifeline, though part of him will never believe in safety, part of him is still back there no matter what he does.

“I know,” he says, and he leans into the crook of Thor's neck like it's an instinct. The disconnect, the fear, it's still there, but if he focuses on the warmth and the scent and the gentle pressure, he can almost pretend it's quieter. “I know.”

He pulls back a little, swallowing, wondering if he's too close, if he's too much. “T-thank you. I'm sorry.” He pauses awkwardly, shifting his gaze away. “I didn't mean to get so dark.”

~

Thor shudders as Bruce nestles into the crook of his neck, and something awakens within him just then, shooting vibrant tendrils of lightning through his veins. His heart quickens as a lock of sliver-tinged hair brushes the nape of his neck, and for a brief second he's both out of his body and overwhelmingly grounded all at once. Here is the most secretive man in all the cosmos—here, laying next to him, trusting him, leaning into his touch. He wonders if Bruce believes him, believes in his protection. He repeats the oath silently to himself: _ As long as I'm breathing, I will protect them. _

Too soon does Bruce pull away, embarrassed, like he's overstepped. The feeling dissipates like a doused fire, and Bruce murmurs his apology. “What?” Thor says, blinking stupidly. “No. Banner... don't apologize.” He wriggles a little closer, and the movement is silly, so silly for how intense the moment is. But when he smiles, he's smiling into that small intimate space between their faces, and it's delightfully palpable with heat. “You know,” he begins, his cheeks glowing with warmth. “I've lived a long time, Banner. Traveled through the darkest depths of the Cosmos, where the stars are few and far between.” He pauses. “There's beautiful stuff out there. You just have to remember to bring a light.”

~

Bruce swallows, suddenly grateful that the room is dark enough that Thor can’t see that his eyes are shining with tears that threaten to spill. “I—" his words choke in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he can even _ believe _ it. But it’s safe, it’s _ safe _ here, and he wonders if he can let his guard down, if he can relax into this, if even for a minute.

_ Impossible_, he thinks to himself, bitterly. But he’s almost grateful he’s alive. Almost grateful he made it to this point. 

Maybe... Maybe he _ is_. And that’s something his mind isn’t quite capable of handling right now. 

He could hug Thor—God, he _ wants _ to, wants to press up against this man and wrap his arms around him and never let go, but he stays put instead, soaking in the warmth from a distance. 

“I guess we have time to do that, then,” he says, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips. He wonders, if Thor knows he can’t die. If Thor sees him as just another mortal passing through in the blink of an eye, or if he knows he hasn’t really aged a day past thirty-five.

“Maybe you can show me some of it when this is all over.”

~

Thor beams at him, beams at the prospect of showing Bruce these quiet regions of space, the nooks and crannies of the cosmos previously untouched by light. He thinks Bruce deserves something more illuminated, though—something almost as bright and breath-takingly beautiful as him. A few select nebulae trickle into his mind, and his face splits into a grin. “You'd love it out there,” he says, his heart fluttering with excitement. “Er—you'd love it out here, I mean. We're. We're already in space. But I'd love to show you more of it, if you'd like!”

He pauses, realizes he's rambling. Beside him, Bruce is stiff, silent—undoubtedly listening, but it's hard to read his expression in the dim light. An inexplicable pang of hurt wells up in Thor's chest, and he's reminded of the invisible barriers between them—of the secrecy keeping Thor out, the fear of being compromised. By being _ known_. 

_ Hold him, _ says a voice in his head, though it's more of an urge than anything, an impulse throb in his heart. He falters again, blinks at Bruce in the cold light of the stars. _ He's beautiful, _ he thinks, _ so beautiful and so alone._

He wonders if he can make him feel any less lonely.

_ Screw it. _

He reaches for Bruce. Lays a hand on the tender skin of his waist to anchor himself. Then he pulls himself close, just close enough that their chests barely brush. A soft prickle of excitement sparks across his skin, and his breath catches as he finds himself nose-to-nose with him, his lone eye swept up in Bruce's milky brown ones. The rest is up to Bruce, then—if he wants to close the gap, he can.

“I'll take you anywhere you'd like to go,” he says softly, gently stroking the other man's back. “And I _ will _ keep you safe. You have my word.”

~

In that moment, Bruce finds himself wrapping his arms around Thor’s chest, bringing himself closer, nestling his face into the crook of his neck—it’s like an instinct, like a scared animal looking for somewhere to call home. He breathes in his scent, slowly, letting himself savor the moment, if only for a second. “Thank you,” he says, so quiet even he can barely hear it.

_ Safe. _ That’s something so foreign to him, he doesn’t know what it is. Is that what this is, this feeling of comfort, of quiet, of _ calm_—this island of peace in the ocean of anxiety and hypervigilance that is his brain? 

“I-I hope this is okay,” he mumbles, unsure of himself. He doesn’t know what this is—what they have. But whatever it is, it’s something good, and he can sit with that.

~ 

Thor almost winces when Bruce nestles into him, the space between them slowly closing as his arms wrap around his back. It’s a good kind of wince, though—a burst of exhilaration, firing through his peripheral nervous system and igniting a light, giddy feeling within his solar plexus. His toes begin to wiggle in spite of himself, and he feels warm, so very warm, and when Bruce thanks him, it’s like being touched by sunlight.

And then in one fell swoop the uncertainty is back, and Bruce folds—_I hope this is okay_, Bruce says. He _ hopes_. As if this isn’t what Thor had wanted, had wanted since seeing him again on Sakaar, had thought was only possible in his dizziest daydreams on earth. 

As if to answer him, Thor heaves him closer, till their chests are pressed together, their hips flush, his body heavy and secure against Bruce’s. He laughs softly into Bruce’s ear, brushing it with his lips, the movement so subtle and fleeting that it might not have even happened. “I’ve waited a _ long _ time for this, Banner,” he whispers, his heart fluttering within his chest. “Longer than you’d think.”

~

_ Longer than you’d think? _ What did that mean? Did _ this _ mean what he thought it meant? He breathes in, savoring the moment. Bruce wants to say, _ me too_. Wants to say how long he’d ached for this down to his very core. 

But instead, what comes out of his mouth is a fumbled “_Wow, man_. Uh, how long?” and he blinks up at Thor, a nervous grin on his face as he mentally slaps himself for saying it.

~

It's not quite the response Thor is expecting, but he laughs, a low rumbling laugh. He's not afraid to admit this—honesty _ is _ kind of his policy, after all (whether it be intentional or not), and he could think of few others besides Bruce who he felt worthy of his trust. 

He does blush, though—because while he's not afraid of the truth, he _ is _ afraid of how Bruce might react.

“Well,” he begins, idly tracing the curls of Bruce's hair, wanting to twirl each lock between his fingers, but thinking it might be too soon for that. A sheepish grin tugs at his lips, and his gaze flutters downwards. “To the tell the truth, I, uh... since we had first met, I've. I've always been somewhat drawn to you. I'm not exactly sure how it started, but. I wanted to get to know you more. I have few things in common with the Midgardians, but... you. You were different.” He pauses, then sucks in a deep breath. “Er. And then the wild-bilgesnipe-chase with the Sceptre happened, and the feelings just got—" he pauses, wriggling away from Bruce to mimic an explosion with hands. “_Pshhh-kow. _But that was rotten timing, because then Ultron happened, and…”

...Hel. He's rambling again. And Bruce is just patiently listening to him, because of course he is. He shakes his head and starts again. “But then you left,” he murmurs, eye flickering back up to Bruce, searching his face for some kind of reaction. “I... I tried looking for you, you know. I told the others I was going after the Stones, but... that wasn't the full truth. I was searching for you, too. I'm... I'm really glad I found you.”

~

Bruce feels his heart jump in his chest. He's glad most of his face is concealed—he doesn't have to hide the grin that's broken out on his face as he listens to Thor ramble on. He could listen to him talk all day. It doesn't even matter what he's saying. His voice is so _ soothing, _ and so _ passionate, _ and so _ funny_—

But Thor's talking about _ him_, he realizes, and when it begins to register, it suddenly feels foreign to him, like Thor's talking about some other person, some alternate, idealized version of the man he really is. 

_ It's true. Thor doesn't know anything about you, Bruce. The man's blind; he doesn't know you like I know you. If he did, he'd—_

_ Shut _ ** _up!_ **

He forces himself back to reality, and those last few sentences—they hit him like a truck. Thor was looking for _ him? _ Worried about him? _ Why? _ No, that's ridiculous, he _ knows _ why, but—

“Well,” he says, letting out a bit of a sardonic chuckle. “I hope it was worth it.”

_ Fuck_, he wishes he could bite back his words the moment they left his mouth. “No, damnit. I'm sorry, I—I should work on that.” He sighs, closing his eyes again, breathing in Thor's scent. “I'm glad you found me, too.” _ (But part of him wishes he was never found, wishes he was left to rot, wishes—Goddamnit! Not now!) _ His brow furrows, and he finds his hands balling into fists around the fabric on Thor's shirt, and whether it's out of a desire for comfort or hatred for himself, he cannot tell.

_ Breathe. Just breathe. Relax. _ He forces himself to do so, unclenching his hands, releasing the tension in his jaw. “Was... Was it hard? The search?” He asks, pulling his head from Thor's neck and scooting upwards, so that the top of his forehead brushes against the scruff on his chin. It must've been hard, searching for a man everyone else thought was dead. He can't wrap his mind around it; he'd do it for Thor, but why would Thor do it for him?

He wants to move further, press their foreheads together—_Damnit, Bruce, just kiss the man already_—but then Thor will see the tears begging to well up in his eyes and he can't ruin this, can't ruin this moment.

~

Thor gasps as Bruce clutches the fabric of his tunic, then blinks down at him confusedly, trying to process the things that Bruce has said—or more accurately, the things he _ hasn't _ said. The man clings to his frame, head bowed beneath his chin, nestling into him as if to hide. There's something stirring within him, Thor perceives—some sort of internal battle he can't quite parse out. And what's more, he's not even sure Bruce wants him to. 

"I... it was," he begins, his voice strung with uncertainty. "Banner, of—of course it was worth it. I mean, even if... even if I _ didn't _ feel the way I feel about you now, you were a part of our team. You were my _ friend. _ I had to at least _ try_."

His breath catches, and suddenly his vision blears, the hint of tears stinging his one remaining eye. _ No, not now, _ he scolds himself. _ He needs you to be strong. Be strong for him. _

He draws in a shaky breath and starts again. “It was worth it,” he echoes, bowing his head against Bruce's, securing him against his own body as if he might lose him again. “I don't know how much my word means to you but... I can tell you right now that, without you, I'm not sure where I'd even be right now. Where my people might be.” He pauses, then laughs softly. “You're a lot more important to me than you're willing to admit to yourself, Banner.”

~

“God, of course you had to. You’re like a damn golden retriever.” Despite the urges to force himself away, Bruce lets himself lean into Thor’s grasp. 

“I... Thank you,” he says, uncertain of himself. “It’s just. Been a while, since...” Since he was important to anyone for anything except his blood or his powers or the need to stop him. But he wasn’t about to dredge all that up again. 

He wraps his arms tight around the man, allowing himself, if just for a moment, to believe Thor’s words. To just be here, in this moment, with him, in some alternate reality where he deserves this. Where he soaks in the warmth, and takes what Thor’s saying without any doubt.

It feels _ nice. _

It feels... Kind of wonderful, actually.

“What would you have done?” He blurts out, looking up at Thor. “If you hadn’t found me.”

~

Thor freezes at the question, freezes not only at its unexpectedness, but because it’s not the first time he’s been asked something like that. _ Did you mourn? _ comes Loki’s chill voice in his head, scathing, doubtful, as if his loss hadn’t shaken Thor’s world to the core. 

“I try not to think of it,” he says in a terse voice. And he doesn’t. He’s dealt with enough loss—he doesn’t need to dwell on the dreary may-haps and could-have-beens—he’s just grateful to have what he has. Besides, he’s not even sure he could have coped with Bruce being gone—Hel, Thor had looked for him for _ two years. _ That in itself should have been an indication that he wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to mourn him yet.

Guilt solidifies in his throat, and he already regrets his brusqueness, even if it _ is _ somewhat justified. “Uh... sorry,” he murmurs, shifting away from Bruce, dipping his gaze downwards and looking anywhere but him. “I’m just—I—it’s just a _ bit _ hard for me to think about, is all.” He sniffles, and _ damn. Not now, _ he thinks, as the tears finally roll down his cheek.

~

Bruce feels his chest tighten, and his hands go to Thor's face almost panicked, as he tries to wipe away the tears with the edge of his sleeve. “Shit, no, Thor, I-I'm sorry, I—"

_ How was this so hard for him? He's delusional, no one in their right mind would be that broken up over you, Bruce. This is ridiculous, he's crazy, he's— _

Bruce inhales, almost muttering a _ “Not now,” _ under his breath, but holding his tongue regardless. Delusional or not, Thor's hurt, and he needs him, and... 

“I-it's okay. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere.” _ Don't make promises you don't know you can keep, Banner. _ “You don't have to think about it now. Unless you... need to talk about it? I'm sorry.”

He curses himself for apologizing again, and holds Thor tight. “I'm here. Right now.”

~

Thor inhales, and it feels like the air is piercing his lungs, like he’s breathing in sheet metal. “Y-yeah,” he gasps, his hand going to Bruce’s, squeezing it as if it were evidence. “I know.” A pause. “Listen, I’m—I’m alright. Thank you.” His eye flickers up to Bruce’s again, and a smile of gratitude twitches across his lips.

He laughs a low shaky laugh, and he marvels at how hoarse he sounds—how hollow. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, grasping anxiously at the fluffy duvet covering then. “I’m not usually like this. I’m—I’m just tired.” Tired. That must be it. Not a good sign, if he’s being honest with himself, considering that he and his people were indefinitely adrift in space—and oh, yeah, he’s _ kind o _f supposed to be leading them. He laughs again, but it’s more involuntary than anything, a bitter scoff scooped out of his chest. “Yeah. Just tired.”

~

Bruce sighs, raising his hand to brush at the hair on Thor's forehead. "You have a lot on your plate," He says, shifting his gaze to the side. "We both do."

He goes silent, not knowing what to offer, not knowing how to fix this. It never ends; this constant, frantic cycle of work and exhaustion. He can't imagine what it’d feel like to be responsible for it all. It's an unfathomable amount of weight. He doesn't know how Thor can manage, or why Thor likes him so much, but he's glad, at least, that he can be here. Some poor excuse for a support for the pillar holding this whole place up, but a support nonetheless.

"You're doing wonderfully, though," he adds, and he means it. “I talk to people every day who sing your praises. Who look up to you. They'd be lost without you there." And he smiles, looking over Thor's face in the dim light. He pauses, lowering his voice. "I would be, too."

~

Thor sniffles, and suddenly he doesn't feel a thousand-and-a-half years old anymore—rather, he feels like a child, sobbing into his mother's arms. 

Only he's not, and Frigga is gone, and he's on a spaceship far away from Asgard. And Asgard is destroyed.

_And Asgard is destroyed. _

_ He's in Hel again, in that place that glows with a sickly yellow light, as if the walls were carven in Brimstone _

_ A fear creeps over him, paralyzing him, as clusters of the dead dance about him _

_ “You're a destroyer, Odinson,” snarls a voice behind him, and he turns to see the wraith-like Heimdall from his vision—his eyes no longer a vibrant, all-seeing gold but a deathly, pupil-less pallor _

_ He gasps as the wind is suddenly sucked out of him, and lighting flickers hungrily across his body, the judgement of the cosmos come to consume him _

_ “See where your power leads.” _

Thor gasps, and when he comes to, he's still laying beside Bruce, stock-still, as if returning from a trance. He hopes—_Allfathers _ does he hope—Bruce hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed he had gone. 

He musters whatever optimism he has left in him, and forces it out into a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says in a soft voice, and he bows his head into Bruce's. 

He hugs him close, _ so _ close, so that they're once again pressed firmly against each other, with only their clothes between them. “Thank you,” he whispers again, nuzzling Bruce's neck, holding him like he's a lifeline. “Thank you, I—"

He has to stop himself from saying he loves him. He does—but it's too much, too much in one night—and he's not sure if Bruce is ready for that yet. 

~

There’s an eerie familiarity to the way Thor freezes up, the way his eyes seem to glaze over as he stares at Bruce—no, not _ at _ him, past him, as if he’s looking at something else, no longer present, pulled back—or somewhere he doesn’t want to be. His hands find Thor’s almost instantly, and he squeezes them tight, locking their fingers together. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, but firm. “Are you okay? Thor? I’ve got you, okay? Whatever’s going on... I’ve got you.”

He wants to ask if he needs to talk, what’s going on, if he can help - but he figures Thor’s lost enough of his pride tonight already. He’ll talk if he needs to.

~

Thor grimaces, because _ damn it, he noticed, _ and he silently curses to himself. He doesn’t know who he’s fooling, though—it’s Bruce _ freaking _ Banner, of course he’d notice.

Thor bites his lip, his eyes fluttering downward in embarrassment. “Th... thank you,” he says again. He’s mentally groaning—he sounds like a broken record. He clears his throat and summons up all the composure he can conjure, then heaves himself up from the bed, orienting himself so he’s facing the window, his eyes scrolling to the stars beyond. “Uh. Listen, it’s late... I. I should rest. Um. _ We _ should rest.”

Even as he says this though, he knows he won’t get a wink of sleep tonight. His mind is racing, and it feels like the molecules of his brain are vibrating at a faster frequency than the rest of his body. He wants to sink down into the bed and hide into Bruce and say _ nothing_—but his skin is crawling, and he feels like even the slightest touch would split him open and spill his guts. He shudders at the thought, his shoulders bracing. 

Sleep. He needs to sleep. 

_ Destroyer_.

~

Bruce nods, giving Thor’s hands a gentle squeeze. “That’s probably a good idea,” he notes, smiling. “I’ll be right here if you change your mind. Uh, if—if you need anything.” He fumbles with his words a bit, staring down at their hands before letting go.

He’ll leave Thor be, but he can’t shake the feeling of worry that settles into his stomach, as he stares at the other man’s hair in the gentle glow of the starlight. “Good night, Thor.” _I love you,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say, because he doesn’t want to cause a stir, and there’s no way the feeling is mutual, and Thor’s stressed enough as it is. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He lets his eyes close half-shut, not all the way; Thor can’t see him anyways. He doesn’t move from the spot, a few inches from his back, just close enough to feel his body heat. 

Maybe he should’ve probed farther. But he can’t risk digging things up before their time. He worries it’s something he did, because he always does, but he shoves that feeling down. He’ll pretend to sleep, but maybe he’ll be lucky enough to drift off soon. 

Unlikely. At least, he’s glad for the company.

~

Thor winces as Bruce squeezes his hand. It’s a spray of cold water to the face, and it doesn’t quite feel _ real_—because he’s still in Hel, still in that cavern of brimstone, surrounded by his dead friends and family. He wants to feel safe here—Bruce _ makes _ him feel _ safe_—but his mind is reeling, and he can’t let him see how broken he is inside, not when he’s gone to such lengths to conceal that. 

He musters a crooked grin—because it’s what he’s good at—and he takes Bruce’s hand in his and presses a tender kiss into it. “Thank you,” he says, and it’s genuine—something he hopes Bruce understands. “I, um. I think I’m going to head back to my office. Plenty of work to be done.” He laughs. “No rest for the wicked, and all that.”

He rises up off the bed, loathe to let go of Bruce’s hand. He hesitates, his chest welling with both fondness and regret—regret at not staying in this warm space, in the arms of his beloved. 

His hand goes to Bruce’s tender cheek, then trails into the man’s soft curls, and he swears he sees Bruce shudder in the half-light of the stars. He bends over him and presses another gentle kiss on his forehead, his hands lingering on Bruce’s face, not wanting to let go. But at least he leaves, the door clicking softly behind him.

He does not go back to his office, and instead wanders the winding corridors, losing himself in a star-tangled trance.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great, but comments are even better! Let us know what you thought <3


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